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Someone e-mailed me today asking about a comment I made regarding me living 5 doors down from my friends in AZ. I realized that not everyone knows about the Arizona house, so I thought I’d give a little history to the statement. (Plus, since I made a vow not to blog about the stupids at work, I have nothing else to write about today)
In September of 2005, I went with my friends Tony and Kerry to look at houses in Arizona. They were looking to move, and I was just going to hang out. We drove around and around and found tons of houses that I loved. One in particular I adored, so I brought home the information to Jas, and proceeded to talk him into it. (For the record, it didn’t take much talking). Tony and Kerry went and put money down for their house, and a week later we put money down for ours. They got the corner lot, and we got the same model 5 doors down. We were all so excited. A few weeks later we drove back and picked out paint, carpet, cabinets, tile, etc. Then we started working on financing, and that’s where it got ugly. My wonderful company was letting me keep my job. Instead of driving into the office everyday, I’d have an office in my house to work out of. Jas, however, wouldn’t have a job until after we moved. The best we could do on financing was $600 more a month than we were paying in California. And since Jas wouldn’t have a job, it would be up to me (at least at first) to come up with $600 extra a month. That was terrifying to me. We were already stretching our paychecks as far as they could go, and I didn’t think that we could handle the extra strain. Plus we’d need a washer/dryer, window treatments, various pieces of furniture, etc. All that stress, combined with the leaving behind of friends and family, made me very very unhappy with the decision to move. I was SO excited about getting a house and SO terrified that we were going to lose it within 6 months. Finally, in January 2006, we canceled our contract. I was half relieved and half depressed.
I often very much regret canceling the contract. Every time I go to Arizona, I feel guilt for being so scared of something new. Any time I pass a new housing development here, and see the crazy prices, I get a little mad at myself, because I could already be living in a great house. I know someday that we’ll get a house that I love. I’d just rather it be sooner than later.
Last night I drove out from SoCal to Arizona and boy was it a long 4 hour trip. I must be going through a funk or something, because usually I enjoy driving by myself. Yesterday, not so much. It just felt like my mind was heavy. The baby thing has been weighing on me, and it’s nice to have a place to talk about it with people who understand. And everyone who commented or e-mailed me was super supportive. So why don’t I feel better?
Today I went out to Phoenix to watch Duke play in a baseball tournament. It was quite entertaining. Their team…how do I say it nicely…sucked. They were just not good. But they had a good time, and that’s what’s important (or at least that’s what they kept trying to tell themselves). Duke and I have an odd relationship. We’re coworkers, technically, but I swear he feels more like family than just a friend. I’m the little sister he never wanted, and he’s the (much) older brother I always did. It’s always fun hanging out with him outside of work. The first game they played was on the spring training fields of the Oakland Athletics. It was a nice facility, but the concrete benches start to get painful after a while. The last game was in the Milwaukee Brewers stadium. It was awesome. We got to sit in the dugout, and Duke let me use his fancy schmancy new camera to take pictures. I think I’m addicted. I’m sure most of the pictures were crappy, but I had a great time doing it! Their team played much better the second game, and actually won! The entire team looked like they were going to pass out by the time it was over, but they still had a good time. It was hot, and I got sunburned (despite my usage of sunblock. Gotta love AZ sun) but I’d do it again anytime.
After the game I came back to hang out with Tony & Kerry. I miss them a lot, so it’s always great to see them. Sometimes it’s hard to sit in their house, knowing that I could have been living 5 houses over in my own house, instead of 4 hours away in my crappy apartment. But having fun with them outweighs the sadness. I don’t think there’s been an occasion that we’ve hung out, where I haven’t cried from laughing at some point. Tomorrow I make the long drive home again, hopefully in time to take a nap before I go out again. Maybe this drive will be less depressing.
I can’t get having a baby out of my head. I want one more than anything. I can’t explain why, either. It’s just something I feel. I see other parents with their kids, and I want to cry, because I don’t have that. It’s even worse when I see Jason with our friend’s kids. He’s so great with them, and I want more than anything for us to have our own family. I want to see him that happy and cute with our kids. It’s got to the point where TV shows, movies, and commercials sometimes make me teary eyed. Amy just posted a beautiful montage video of her son Noah, and I cried like crazy while watching it. I thought you were supposed to get emotional AFTER you got pregnant!
I’ve been wanting with a baby for a while now. Before we got married, we’d talked about starting a family in January of 2006. Then it got pushed back to late fall. Then it was pretty much postponed all together. It’s a touchy subject in our house. It seems harder for me to deal with now, because a lot of my friends are currently pregnant, or just had a baby. Heidi’s son is a year, and Mandy is trying to get pregnant now. Helen and Jamie both had daughters in September. Dana is due in December, Heather in February. I’m SO excited for all of them. I really am. But I can’t help but be super jealous. Not jealous like I wish them unhappiness. Jealous like I’m missing out on everything.
I was trying to sorta stop myself from thinking these things, so I went looking for information to scare me away from being pregnant. Now, I was fairly terrified of being pregnant already. I always have been. I want very much to be a mom, but I’d like to skip that whole being pregnant and giving birth part. (I’m totally up for adoption. Jas, however, is not.) Part of my fear is just generally being afraid of hurting the baby while I’m pregnant, or something bad happening during birth. The other part is a little less stupid. Jason was 14 lbs and 23-1/2" when he was born. 14lbs!! That’s twice the national average! His mom is slightly insane. She had him naturally. As in not a C-section. The doctor had to BREAK HER PELVIS to get him out. All of the muscles in and around there were torn up. He had to spend 5 months in the NICU because his lungs were underdeveloped for his size. His dad had to go home and get the clothes that his 18 month old brother was wearing, because the newborn stuff didn’t fit. Jas is now 6’5" and 280lbs. So yeah, having Jason’s child is a little intimidating. If that wasn’t bad enough, I was 10lbs when I was born. If you average the two of us, that’s a 12lb kid I’d be squeezing out. That’s not a kid, that’s a Thanksgiving turkey!
All of that should scare me, right? And it used to. But I’m not that scared anymore. I want this more than anything. I’ve been reading "mommy blogs" non-stop, just to live vicariously. That’s probably hurting me more than helping me, however. I want to BE those women. I want to be writing a "mommy blog" instead of whining about how much I want to be a mommy. (Of course, I’d then lose all two of you who actually read this.)
We spent a few hours in the ER the other night, and there were several moms in there with their kids. Instead of wishing I wasn’t there at all, I wished I was there for my child. (Not that I wish my child needed to be in the ER, but … oh you know what I mean.) We’re supposed to have another talk about family planning sometime next week, and I can’t come up with good reasons to do so. Jas is hesitant because of how much it’ll cost us. I think we’ll be able to have a baby just fine if we alter our priorities. No more buying computer gadgets for me. No more buying baseball cards for him. We don’t need to eat out all the time. We don’t need a huge expensive vacation every year. We can do this. The other thing he wants is for me to stay home with the baby. And part of me wants that too. But the other part loves my job, and thinks that I can do both with no problem.
If we wait until Jas is making enough money to support both of us AND a baby, I’ll be 65 before I have kids. That’s not a slam on Jason, that’s just reality. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people say "If you wait until you’re ready, you’ll never have kids." I’m tired of waiting. I want to expand my family. I want to not cry at commercials of gorgeous children, or videos of kids I’ve never met. I want to cry because my own baby is beautiful, and watching Jas with our child is just a magical thing. I want to be able to find the words to explain to my husband that this isn’t just a temporary phase that’ll go away if ignored. I’m ready for this. This is something I’ve thought hard about. Examined every angle of. This isn’t going to be a walk in the park, I know. There are budget crunches, sleepless nights, smelly diapers, screams you don’t know what to do about, moments of terror, infinite fears and worries. But the positives completely outweigh the negatives. This will be our baby. Our child. It’s absolutely a challenge I want to take on. I’m ready for this. I know I am.
Isn’t she adorable?
So, remember a little while back I made a confession, in the hopes that talking about it and bringing it out into the open would somehow help desensitize me to it? I even said that pictures of the creature no longer set me off.
I lied.
The other night I had a major setback. I’m lying in bed, watching Who’s Line Is It Anyway? and sorta drifting off to sleep. Then I hear something like “ABC Family is pleased to present…” and then The Creature (because I can’t type the two letters of it’s name right now) shows up on the screen and makes some sort of noise. I screamed like a little girl, jumped up out of bed, and went bolting out of the room. Jas was lying on the couch, and I sorta half tackled him, half hid behind him. It was ugly. I was shaking, crying. I could hardy tell Jas what was wrong. Once I got out why I was having a major freak out, he kinda patted my hand and kept watching the show he was watching. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m an idiot for having such a fear. I thought about making him come into the bedroom with me, so I could sleep, but I’m not sure I could take the teasing and/or mocking that would surely accompany that request.
I spent the rest of the night dreaming the creature was chasing me. I’ve seen the commercial twice since, and have had to change the channel both times, because I could feel the panic building up. So much for being a grown up.
I like the fact that Jason has a bar tending job. I also hate the fact that Jason has a bar tending job. I know. Can’t have my cake and eat it too, and other such cliches that make no sense. But this does make sense to me.
Jas loves bar tending. He’s quite the people person and loves to talk. (And talk and talk and talk…) Aside from some of the jackholes that he works with, and some of the cheap bastards he serves, he loves his job. And I’m happy for him. I love my job too, and I’d be pissed as hell if he ever asked me to leave it. But I hate that he works while I’m home. Selfish, I know. But I can’t seem to help it. And I’m quite the bitch about it too. When he tells me he’s only working 2 or 3 days, I get pissy because it mean he’ll be making less money, which means I have to cover more. And on the other hand, when he has to work 6 days, I get pissy because it means I can’t see him. I like having time alone. Watching the tv shows I want to watch, reading quietly with no interruptions, and just having a little me time. But I miss him when he’s not here. Even when I think about how irritating it is when he tries to talk to me while I’m reading my book (the book is NOT made of invisible paper. You can SEE that I’m reading it. SO WHY DO YOU KEEP TALKING?), I would still rather have him home bugging me than have him out at the bar.
Perhaps it’s just my need to have everything just the way I want it. I would love him to have a full time day job so that he made more money, and yet we had evenings to spend together as well. But he doesn’t want a full time day job. He likes his bar tending thing. I suppose I’ll have to live with that.
A chunk of my ceiling has fallen.
No, I’m not kidding. We have one of those stucco ceilings that all apartment complexes have, because they’re cheap. A small chunk of the stucco just floated down to the floor as I sat there watching the television. Why did my ceiling fall? Funny you should ask that. The apartment above us has recently been inhabited by large thundering elephants.
We used to live under Two Ton Tina. She was a very large black woman that would rattle the pictures on my wall when she walked up the stairs. She was a very, very nice woman, which is why I never complained about her. Although she didn’t move around much, she was pretty loud when she did. She was nothing, however, compared to the new upstairs residents. They’re unbelievable. The only time that place is quiet is when they’re not home. I can tell exactly where in the apartment they are just by the noise their steps make. I’ve seen a couple people that may or may not live there (it seems they’re fond of gatherings), and no one looks heavy enough to cause the amount of rumbling that they cause. It’s almost like they’re afraid the carpet is going to suddenly spring up and whack them in the face, and they’re stamping it down as a preventative measure.
So how do I handle it? Do I march up there (potentially destroying more of my own ceiling) and demand they return the elephants to the circus, and resume walking like normal humans? Do I bake them some laxative-laced brownies and hope they spend the rest of their existence on the toilet, rather than tromping around the apartment? I think I’ll try calling the front office about it. Not to tattle on them, but to ask if maybe a letter can be sent to the entire complex reminding people of general courtesies. Yanno, things like not driving through the parking lot at 4am with your radio blaring, and picking up after your mangy little mutt when she poops right in the center of the steps to my apartment.
This coming weekend, I’m participating in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, to raise money for breast cancer awareness, treatment and research. Breast cancer has sadly touched many women in my life, including my grandmother, cousin, mother-in-law, and very close friend. Donating to the cause is the best way I know to go about helping them. And not only am I donating to the cause, I’m asking you to help as well. Below is a link to the donation page. My goal is to raise $200 for this race. Obviously, if I can raise more than that, it would be fantastic. Any and all donations are welcome. If you can’t afford to donate (and I’ve been there too), your positive thoughts and support are all I need. And if you’re feeling ambitious, feel free to pass the donation link on to others. The more people who can help, the faster we can find a cure!
**Edited to add: My goal of $200 was smashed rather quickly (like within an hour of the original post), so I’ve upped it to $400. Thanks to everyone who’s donated so far, and everyone who plans to donate!!
Find The Cure!
or cut and paste the following into your browser, if the above link doesn’t work:
http://inlandempire.kintera.org/faf/r.asp?t=4&i=240442&u=240442-150280011&e=1301482807
I had the dream again. The one where my kids are deaf. For as long as I can remember, in every dream I’ve ever had about my future kids, they’ve been deaf. I don’t know if maybe my mind knows something I don’t, or the dream is a manifestation of my fear of having deaf kids, or what, but I’ve never had hearing children in any dream. I’ve also never had a daughter in my dreams, but I think that’s more a product of wishful thinking.
This particular dream had me taking my 5 boys (a sure sign this was a dream, and not a premonition) to an amusement park of sorts. It didn’t look familiar to me, but it had a Magic Mountain feel to it. Everything was going fine until two of them disappeared. Being the supergenius I am, I ran around the park calling their names. (Obviously logic doesn’t play any role in these dreams. Either that, or my subconscious thinks I’m a moron.) At some point the location shifted from the magic mountain-esque amusement park to a school that I didn’t recognize, and I was now being chased by some guy who wanted to hurt my kids. I still couldn’t find the two, and apparently I’d stopped caring about the other 3, since they were no longer in my dream. As with most of my "chase" dreams, I just kept running and running through hallways and doors looking for my kids, and trying to avoid being captured. I burst through a door that set off an alarm, and just as the guy grabbed my arm, I woke up. Turns out the alarm on the door was actually Jason’s cell phone ringing.
I can’t find my dream dictionary, so I can’t figure out what these dreams mean. I’m almost always being chased, at least in the dreams I remember. And the kids are always deaf. Part of me thinks that stems from my odd obsession with sign language. I’ve been interested in it since I was a kid. My parents thought they would be slick and learn the American Sign Language alphabet so they could have discussions that my sister and I wouldn’t know about. Apparently, they weren’t paying any attention to the television we watched while they chatted behind our backs. Sesame Street’s Linda Bove taught the alphabet right there on the show. So I learned it pretty quickly. So, either the dreams come from that, or I’m secretly afraid that my kids won’t ever listen to me. Knowing my luck, it’s probably the latter.
Yay! I’ve lost weight! 3.5 whole pounds. Not bad considering in the first two weeks, I gained 2lbs. So really, I’ve lost 1.5lbs. But that’s better than nothing, right?
What I’m most excited about is that I broke the 200lb barrier. (For the record, I’m not afraid to state my weight. I’m a big girl. Figuratively and literally.) I’ve had trouble forever getting under 200lbs. A few months ago I got down to 195, and I damn near scheduled a parade through the city. Of course, the second I hit 195, I rocketed right back up to 205. It’s been 4 months or so since I’ve been under 200, and I’m super excited. Again. But this time I think I’m postponing the parade until I’m under 190.
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